“ Made rankly fertile by the blood of men, Peace in the woodland, and the lonely glen, Peace in the peopled vales! [Pg 12] Peace in the crowded town, Peace in the thousand fields of waving grain, Peace in the highway and the flowery lane, Peace on the wind-swept down! Peace on the farthest seas, Peace in our sheltered bays and ample streams, Peace whereso'er our starry garland gleams; And peace in every breeze! Peace on the whirring marts, Peace where the scholar thinks—the hunter roams, Peace, God of Peace! Peace, peace, in all our homes, And peace in all our hearts! ”
Quotes from Songs from the Southland ()
“ Tall, sombre, grim, they stand with dusky gleams Brightening to gold within the woodland's core, Beneath the gracious noontide's tranquil beams— But the weird winds of morning sigh no more. A stillness, strange, divine, ineffable, Broods round and o'er them in the wind's surcease, And on each tinted copse and shimmering dell Rests the mute rapture of deep-hearted peace. [Pg 28] Last, sunset comes—the solemn joy and might Borne from the West when cloudless day declines— Low, flutelike breezes sweep the waves of light, And lifting dark green tresses of the pines ”
“ THE VOICE IN THE PINES. PAUL HAMILTON HAYNE. The morn is softly beautiful and still, Its light, fair clouds in pencilled gold and gray Pause motionless above the pine-grown hill, Where the pines, tranced as by a wizard's will, Uprise as mute and motionless as they! Yea! mute and moveless; not one flickering spray Flashed into sunlight, nor a gaunt bough stirred; Yet, if wooed hence beneath those pines to stray, We catch a faint, thin murmur far away, A bodiless voice, by grosser ears unheard. [Pg 25] What voice is this? ”
